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LOVE'S CREED 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 
ALBERT EDMUND TROMBLY 

Author of "The Springtime of Love," etc. 




BOSTON 

SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 

1915 






coptbiqht, 1915 
Sherman, Fhench 6^ Compant 



MAY 17 1915 

©GI,A398843 



r^ 



TO 

MY BELOVED WIFE 



CONTENTS 
LOVE'S CREED 

PAGE 

I Premonition 1 

II Idlers 2 

III Morning 3 

IV The Wasted Cup 4< 

V Life 5 

VI The Prodigal8 6 

VII Roads 7 

VIII The Measure 8 

IX The Answer 9 

X Will it Avail? 10 

XI Immortality 11 

XII The Raindrop 12 

XIII Duty 13 

XIV Worship .14 

XV Harvest-tide 15 

XVI The Soul 16 

XVII Bitter-sweet 17 

XVIII The Prize 18 

XIX Day and Night 19 

XX Hesperus 20 

SONNETS 

Erato 23 

Spring in the City 24 

The Sabbath 25 

The Genius of Womanhood 26 



PAQE 

In Answer to My Muse's: 27 

From a Window 28 

Love's Book 29 

Love's Tale 30 

On the Appearance of My First Volume . 31 

On Rereading Certain Letters .... 32 

Midnight 33 

Written on My Wedding Day .... 34 

The Hourglass S5 

I The Gift 35 

II The Tale 36 

III The Lesson 37 

Insomnia 38 

To Shelley 39 

To E. Harlow Russell 40 

The Reveille 41 

POEMS IN VARIOUS KEYS 

On the Birth of T. E. R 45 

To A Brown Thrasher 46 

Stanzas 48 

The Nest Builders 50 

AL\y Song 51 



RONDEAUX 

The Rondeau 55 

My Golden Boy 56 

Before We Came 57 

The Golden Apple ....... 58 



PAGE 

Across the Threshold 59 

On Finding a Dead Thrush 60 

PINDARIC ODES 

America 63 

As Summer Follows Prime 65 

The Harvest 67 

Did the Leader Return 69 

Ave, Marte ! 71 

DANTE'S REJECTED CANTO 

Dante's Rejected Canto 75 

TRANSLATIONS 

My Secret . 81 

Welcome to the Spring 82 

Dance Song 85 

Dance Song 87 

The Song of the Cicalas 89 

On Seeing His Lady 91 

Sylvan Repose 92 

O Violet 93 



LOVE'S CREED 



PREMONITION 

I THOUGHT of how amid our vanities 

We bear ourselves as children, not as men; 
We feed on dreams, and dwell within the ken 

Of fancy with its blue and boundless skies. 

]\Iany the dream we dream of paradise, 

And fashion gods for each, believing then 
They fashioned us ! O dank and dangerous 
fen 

Where men will lose their hearts to follow lies ! 

O Love, my own, then let us not forget 

That life must end and most of all we know ! 

And let us teach our spirits to be brave, — 

To think and act that when our day has set 

Our hearts may feel, and in that feeling go, 

Content with death and with an earthy 

grave. 



[1] 



n 

IDLERS 

If men would hoard their hearts with half the 
zeal 
They hoard up paltriness, their lives might 

know 
Something of worthy, something of the glow 
Which our hearts, my Love, so deeply feel. 
A golden calf it is to which they kneel; 
To ease and sloth they also bow them low ; 
But then they reap the nettles which they 
sow; 
Their blood is sluggish and their hearts con- 
geal. 

Andi discontented, too, with what they sheaved. 
They dream a castle with a gilded dome 
Whose lord they make to welcome them 
above. 
Yet none but them, the idlers, have believed 
The heaven of which they dreamed to be a 
home 
For such as could not live, and could not 
love. 



[2] 



Ill 

MORNING 

If we but made our lives what they should be, 
We need not then, Beloved, look before 
In hopes of better days, nor ponder more 

On vanities to which we bend the knee. 

Reason would teach us how to feel and see 
That we can cull from life's deep-fruited 

store 
A heartful such, we could not but ignore 

Our idle dreams of immortality. 

O nurture we our souls the while we may, 
With noble thought and many a worthy deed. 
But most of all with love, unceasing love; 
That when the morning passes and the day 
Grows garish with the sun, we feel no need 
Of other fruits than those we plucked 
above ! 



[3] 



IV 

THE WASTED CUP 

This earthly life is all that we shall know; 

And still with one accord will men proclaim 

Another being in a god's domain 
As compensation for their present woe. 
Yet who but them have made them wretched so? 

They know not how to live, but tear and 
maim 

Their days as if intent to strive and aim 
To make their years an unrelenting foe. 

Is it to live, my Love, to fill one's cup 
With luxury and vain desires and hopes 
And futile cares which gall and waste the 
soul? 
Better by far in poverty to sup 

With happiness than; be the fool who mopes, 
Not knowing of the wine within his bowl. 



w 



LIFE 

" What is to live ? " I hear the many cry ; 
" Tell it us, poet, tell us, you who feel 
That you have found a certain human weal, 

And call what we name living, but to die. 

Ever we strive and toil, and know not why 
Our misery accrues, which naught can heal 
And which we feel not even the tomb can 
seal." 

And I make audible but this reply : 

" Brothers, if you will feed your starving 
hearts 
With thinking that alone will profit you 
Which you achieve, and not what hope may 
give; 
That man receives the measure he imparts ; 
That happiness consists in love to do, — 
Then, only then, will you have learned to 
live." 



[6] 



VI 

THE PRODIGALS 

Our lives we squander as a profligate 
Might fritter an inheritance, yet we 
Are not. content with wasting luxury, 

But add our hearts to what we dissipate. 

Lavish and prodigal until too late. 

With eyes which never saw, we dimly sec 
The wretchedness of our poverty. 

And think the ill we wrought was wrought by 
fate. 

'Tis thus, dear Heart, that men will live and 
think : 
The one distracted by the lure of gold, 

Another by the dazzling pomp of power; 
And one will dream in wine that he can drink 
Of happiness, — but when their days are told 
What have their hearts possessed of liv- 
ing's dower? 



[6] 



VII 

ROADS 

Many a road may lead to happiness: 
The one remote from populous alarms 
May wind among the hills and lonely farms, 

Another still where hurrying thousands press ; 

In wealth another lie, and in the stress 
Of want another; one amid the charms 
Of hall and court, and one mid clashing arms ; 

Yet must they all be paved with earnestness. 

It little matters, Love, the which we take 
If only we will follow to the end 

And then rejoice that we have seen the 
whole, 
Unlike our fellows who so oft forsake 

Their chosen footpath at the earliest bend, 
And, tarrying by the way, forget the goal. 



m 



VIII 
THE MEASURE 

Our days and years are vain and little worth. 

The waters of our hearts are shallow pools 

Where feeling stagnates and desire cools, 
Where worthy love is never given birth. 
Zeal, Belov'd, we know not ; peace and mirth 

Have passed away, and hope awhimpering 
rules ; 

We gaze into the clouds like doting fools. 
But live not there, nor can we live on earth. 

And will you not believe your lives are vain, — 
You men of words who hope and, hoping, 
dream 
And prate of heaven and think your folly 
wise ? 
Then tell me why you moan, and why com- 
plain? 
Why stare in awe at every fancied gleam? 
And why forever gaze toward other skies? 



[8] 



IX 
THE ANSWER 

How shall I answer, Dearest, those who chide, 
Saying that he who thinks of happiness 
As of the earth like lilies and the cress, 

Is but a child too easily satisfied ; 

And say the years that we must here abide 
Are so imperfect, wear so poor a dress, 
That there must be another life to bless 

And lavish us with what the earth denied? 

Shall I reply that man was never born 
For him alone, but that his fellowmen 
Might be the happier for another heart? 
Then let each one of us, while yet 'tis morn, 
Take up his sceptre, mattock, lute or pen 
And be content if he but does his part ! 



[9] 



X 

WILL IT AVAIL? 

Will it avail us aught to strive and toil, 
To pass beyond the hills and fell the oak, 
To string the harp and wear the purple 
cloak, 

And with our sweat enrich the fallow soil? 

Beside us at the river others roil 

The water we would drink ; a thunder-stroke 
May smite and leave our fondest idols broke ; 

And dearth may come our sickle-blades to foil. 

Will it avail to strive? Ah, yes indeed, 
Though elements oppose! For only he 
Who bears the yoke can ever think to know 
Of happiness ; and our toiling need 
Not be alone to pleasure you and me 

But that the many reap the good we sow ! 



[10] 



XI 
IMMORTALITY 

As often the remembrance of a joy 

Outlives the momentary, keen delight, 

And brings before the elder's dimming sight 

The heart which leaped within him when a 
boy,— 

Even so does something of ourselves deploy 
Its wings invisible, and when the night 
Of death has closed upon us, takes its flight 

To realms which time can never quite destroy. 

This being, Love, immeasurable, unknown. 
Is but the influence for good or ill 

Which passes to my fellows out from me, — 
A being of a light or sombre tone, 

A thing to make the happy happier still. 
An heir to glorious immortality ! 



[11] 



XII 
THE RAINDROP 

A LITTLE raindrop falls upon the lake 
And is in falling lost and disappears ; 
And though its coining no one sees nor hears, 

Yet is the whole the greater for its sake. 

Thus, too, with us : we cannot. Love, partake 
Of life, unless within the passing years 
We add or to its joys or to its tears; 

And ours 'tis to choose the which we'll make. 

Then, since the good we fashion while we live. 
To make our days and those of others glad 
Alone is gifted with immortal breath; 
O let us lavish all that we can give. 

And, giving, learn that life need not be sad. 
And let us never more have fear of death ! 



[12] 



XIII 
DUTY 

What vain and vainer duties we impose 

Upon our years in thinking we must be 

The minions of ignoble luxury 
Who only think and act as others chose ! 
How little of the heart within us grows ! 

For though enslaved it will not dare be free ! 

And yet our only duty is that we 
Should lizfe, each one of us as best he knows. 

And what more worthy than that our days, 
Breathing of love and peace and calm con- 
tent, 
Should be as beacons to our fellowmen? 
Then would our temples wear the glorious bays, 
Our lives no longer seem a season's tent, 
And Fame acknowledge us as of her ken ! 



[13] 



XIV 
WORSHIP 

This iron age is rife with many a creed: 

'Twould seem that men, insatiable on earth, 
Desire at death to undergo rebirth. 

And dream a heav'n to satisfy their greed. 

They think that life must have another meed 
Than in itself, for theirs has known a dearth 
Of happiness or anything of worth, 

And now they turn wherever hope will lead. 

And I, what can I know that they ignore? 
Scarce more, my Love, than if a god there be. 
As they assert, life-giver of us all, 
That he than others may esteem me more. 
Since I bow down before his creature, thee. 
And feel in thee his love's eternal call. 



[14] 



XV 
HARVEST-TIDE 

As in the mellow days of harvest-tide 

When crickets leap and shrill among the 

sheaves 
And sun and frost have tinged the forest- 
leaves 

With brown and crimson and a golden pride, 

Reapers will merry-make the country wide, 
As piling up the grain beneath the eaves 
They ponder on the crops, and each believes 

His dreams of plenty have not been belied; 

So we should gather in our days and years, 
Contented with the harvest and to know 
That we have reaped more pleasure in than 
pain ; 
Not mourn with those whoi waste away in tears. 
Ever expecting what they did not sow 

And gath'ring stubble while they leave the 
grain. 



[15] 



XVI 

THE SOUL 

The soul is but the body's functioning: 

The hand that clutches and the foot that 

bears, 
The ear that listens and the tooth that tears, 

The heart whose blood is welling like a spring, 

Or e'en the tongue which gives the feelings wing, 
The heaving of the breast, the eye that stares. 
These are the soul, my Love, despite the airs 

Of them who vaunt it as another thing. 

Then why imagine we the human soul, — 
'Tis thus we name the body's faculty, — 
Can flourish still when flesh and bone de- 
cay? 
The stream must have its water, flame its coal, 
And spirit body, else they cannot be. 
If body die, then soul has past away. 



[16] 



XVII 
BITTER-SWEET 

Our life consists of but two elements : 

The one is bitter and the other sweet ; 

The foraier laggard and the latter fleet, 
And both may shallow be or be intense. 
Many the time we drive the bitter hence, 

The other with a welcome do we greet ; 

And yet is each within its season meet 
For one is but the other's recompense. 

And musing, Love, upon the way of life, 
I pause and marvel at the men who dream 
That they can make of it an endless pleas- 
ure; 
For I am sure that after futile strife 

They'll find beneath their thin and meagre 
cream 
A bitterness, and in a bitter measure. 



[17] 



XVIII 
THE PRIZE 

Just as a boy might sec a red-ripe fruit. 
High up on a scraggy tree, and realize 
That he must risk a fall to get the prize 

And think the winning hardly worth the suit; 

Beloved, there are men of some repute, 

The self-styled thinkers, who regard it wjse 
To shun the sweets that hang before the eyes 

Because the pains of reaching are acute. 

Yet I deny that he can ever live 

Who only scorns the cup and will not drink 

Because the wine, he fears, is bitter-sweet. 

For life, my Love, is both to take and give, 

To smile and weep, rejoice to feel and think 

That if the sweet is good, the bitter's meet. 



[18] 



XIX 

DAY AND NIGHT 

Let us remember, Love, our dual life. 
And never once forget that every good 
Must have its ill, that evil never could 

Persist without the good it takes to wife. 

Let us remember, too, the world is rife 
With pleasure and with pain, that he who 

would 
Drink of delight must also have withstood 

A draught of pain, of sorrow, and of strife. 

And since our being is and must be such 

That we can never pluck the good alone, 

But must upgather its companion ill. 

Why, let us not be loth to harvest much. 

Nor stand apart to hesitate and moan, 

But garaer in the whole and with a will ! 



[19] 



XX 

HESPERUS 

Methinks that men will seek a thousand ways 
To reach to happiness, for some will hope 
To find it lies in faith, while others grope 

Within their hearts in meditation's maze ; 

Yet others will pursue for eager days 
The glorious lyre, while their fellows cope 
That earth and firmament and ocean ope 

New secret marvels to their wondering gaze. 

And we, my heart's best treasure, how shall we 
Endeavor, as the days and hours pass, 
To make our hearts more perfect than they 
are? 
Will it not hence, as it has wont to, be 

By running golden sands through our glass 
In following love, that sweet propitious 
star? 



[20] 



SONNETS 



ERATO 

The many thought that when thou cam'st to 
me 
To share my hearth and keep its embers 

bright, 
And let me learn wherein my spirit might, 
By ever striving to resemble thee. 
Attain to some of that felicity 

Which love and wisdom give thee as a right, 
That thou wouldst cease to yield the fair de- 
light 
Which taught my heart its one melodious key. 

'Tis thus the worldlings will forever think, 
Who only know of love, the musty wine 
Their frozen hearts have drained from 
sour fruit. 
But I, my Love, shall never deign to drink 
Nor poetize of any other vine. 

While yet a chord is strung upon my lute ! 



[23] 



SPRING IN THE CITY 

To one long nurtured mid New England hills — 
Where early March is sponsor for the 

Spring, 
Where even the casual eye may catch the wing 
Of bluebirds scouting by the pools and rills, 
Eager to find new summer domiciles ; 

Where all the little brooks that Winter's 

sting 
Had stopped, their late-begotten freedom 
sing, 
And earth and sky 'twould seem are as one 
wills — 

How odious is the din of city streets 

And all the heedless crowds ! But hark ! I 
hear 
A something — surely, from a distant 
yard 
A cock crows, and my fancy wakes and fleets 
And sees us there on Asnebumskit, Dear, 
Watching the Spring advance with van and 
guard ! 



[24] 



THE SABBATH 

The Sabbath rises sullenly, and gray 

With mist and cloud; and in the willow-tree 
The huddling sparrows twitter mournfully, 

Harbingering a drear and stormy day. 

And thou art risen, Love, and gone thy way : 
The organ strikes a melancholy key, 
The temple pulsates with the melody. 

And thou art bowed, thy heart and spirit pray. 

Alone I lie; and now I toss and roll. 

And now upon thy pilloAv quench the sighs 
Which mourn thine absence from my bed 
and me. 
And as the organ-peals instil thy soul 

With love and prayer, and give it wings to 
rise 
To meet thy God, mine own ascends to 
thee! 



[^5] 



THE GENIUS OF WOMANHOOD 

As that sweet girlish month, the buxom May, 
Sprung of a waxing sun and April showers, 
Gracing her beauty with the rarest flowers 

That overhang the brook and gird the bay, 

Donning the violet at break of day, 

The timid primrose when the evening lowers, 
Seems in the fulness of her vernal powers 

The spirit of the spring, the season's fay ; 

So thou, my Love, in all thy loveliness 
Of sweet devotion and gentility. 

Of love so deep that nothing ever could 
Dampen its glow or make its bounty less, 
Seemest and art, as only thou couldst be. 
The soul and genius of all womanhood. 



[26] 



IN ANSWER TO MY MUSE'S: 

" PoHe prends ton luth et me donne un baiser." 

The shepherds long have left their wonted hills. 
And lost the art which taught them shape the 

oat 
To pipes as golden as the liquid throat 

Of philomel ; and dried are all the rills 

That fed the hyacinth and daffodils ; 

And gone, too, is the satyr, man and goat, 
Melodious Pan who blew the sweetest note 

That ever trembled from bucolic quills. 

And yet thou tellest me to take my lute ? 

But first thy kiss to make my spirit strong! 

For in this age of greed's vulgarity, 

When gold can lure the shepherd from his flute, 

I need thy love to teach me breathe a song 

That's worthy of my lyre and of thee ! 



[27] 



FROM A WINDOW 

I SAW two sparrows by my window pass, 
Alight an instant, twitter, flit, and meet 
In their soft-feathered love, and then as fleet 

As echoes wafted from a bell of brass. 

Wing it away above the trees and grass 

And seem as they forgot that moment sweet 
With a forgetfulness full as complete 

As does what it reflects the silvered glass. 

And I bethought me then, how we, my Love, 
Distraught by trivial cares from day to day 
In culling golden grains from life's alloys, 
Resembled too the light-wings sung above. 
Whenever we were prone to let decay 

Remembrance of our eager-hearted joys. 



[28] 



LOVE'S BOOK 

As one might turn the pages of a book 
That lay forgotten, yellowing and sear 
In such an age as this, a stagnant mere 

Which love of beauty long agone forsook, 

And feel his heart exult, his eager look 
Grow eager more, till all his soul appear 
And tremble in his eye to find that here 

Were wisdom and delight's perennial brook, 

Just so do I beliold thee, my heart's Queen, 
Unfold thy womanhood which, heaven-fed, 
A novel glory twines about my soul. 
Yet little of thy spirit have I seen ; 

And even of the fragment I have read, 
I only saw the rubrics, not the whole. 



[29] 



LOVE'S TALE 

As in my childhood there were summer days 
So full with all the growing boy's delights, — 
With playing hide and seek, and flying kites, 

With catching bees and hunting down the jays, 

With stealing fruit and gathering from the 
maize 
Its silk for smoking, with occasional fights, 
With fishing for the fish that never bites, — 

That I would mourn the twilight's deepening 
grays. 

So, too, last evening. Love, when heart to 
heart 
We lay, and told again the oft-told tale 
Of how we first experienced love's might, 
O how I wished that mine had been the art 
To stop the wheels of Time, that dawn might 
fail 
To bring us day and rob us of the night ! 



[30] 



ON THE APPEARANCE OF MY FIRST 
VOLUME 

There long has lingered in my eager heart 
The wish that in some not unworthy strain, 
I might confess how all would have been vain 

Hadst thou not so supremely played thy part. 

And I regret and feel a goading smart 

To think how long my lute has silent lain ; 
But it consoles and gives me heart again 

To know how far my love exceeds mine art. 

more than woman, Muse, and even more ! 
Fountain of good and angel of my star, 
Thy love has brought my first-launched 
bark to port ! 
And I delight to think that, though the store 
It b^ars is scant of wares that worthy are. 
Theirs is a worthy end — to pay thee 
court. 



[31] 



ON REREADING CERTAIN LETTERS 

Much as the readinr^ of an old romance 
May sometimes lure the spirit far away 
Till, all oblivious to the passing day, 

It roam in Arthur's England or the France 

Of Charlemagne ; or even as a glance 
At Titian's art or Leonardo's may 
Intoxicate the sense and let it play 

Amid the color of the Renaissance ; 

So, too, the rambling over once again 
Of all those letters keen to tell us of 

Our love and mark its growth from year to 
year. 
Quickened my bosom with the early pain. 
The passionate hunger and the tender love. 
The old delight, the yearning, and the fear. 



[32] 



MIDNIGHT 

Fatigued with day and \^th the evening hours 
Which weigh the eyelids down and dim the 

sight, 
We close our books and step into the night 

Whose breath is cool as meadows after showers. 

The vigil has distressed these limbs of ours, 
But walking arm in arm an old delight 
INIakes us forget that we are weary quite. 

And each heart throbs with what the other 
dowers. 

As to a spark beneath Auriga's car, 

Sti*uck from his starry way, a meteor shoots 
And, almost ere it flashes, seems to die. 
The moon smiles blandly to the polar star, 
And rising shod in many-leagued boots, 
Orion stalks across the midnight sky. 



[33] 



WRITTEN ON MY WEDDING DAY 

I SEEM to hear among the tawny hills 
We left so green a little month ago, 
The rustle of the stooks that reapers stow 

In lofts and garners which the Autumn fills ; 

The creaking wagons laboring toward the mills; 
The children nutting, shouting as they go,; 
The rhythmic beating of the thresher's blow ; 

The cider-press that drips and overspills. 

And, Sweetheart, on this wedding day of ours 
I, too, rejoice; the gamers of my heart 
Are brimming with the harvest of the year : 
So rich in love and love's enduring hours, 
Which e'en remembered make the bosom start. 
That though the Winter come, I mock at 
feart 



[34] 



THE HOURGLASS 
I 

THE GIFT 

The Spring will not forget to celebrate, 
WlM?n it has come, the festival of May ; 
But it Mill wreathe up violets and bay 

And hang them at its dear beloved's gate. 

Nor did my Love forget my natal date; 
For making it an immemorial day, 
She gave me in her sweet and girlish way 

A thing to make my boyish heart elate ! 

But why an hourglass? Poetic gift! 
Perhaps the hopes within thy bosom are 
That as I hold it here between my hands 
And through it watch the tiny crystals sift, 
I there may witness how thy love is far 
More tireless than these untiring sands ! 



[35] 



II 

THE TALE 

O GOLDEN sands, that once were Araby's, 
Or knew the Libyan desert by the Nile, 
And saw the sphinx's contumelious smile, 

And gave a cradle to the wilting breeze 

Which, blowing north across Algerian seas, 
Parches the olives on Sicilia's isle ; 
What story can ye tell, what tale the while 

Ye mark the hours with unwearied ease? 

O there, as rolled the heaped-up grains away, 
I saw a lonely rider* cross the plain, 

And white the steed, and swarthy was the 
man. 
And, lo, appearing on the dying day. 

And following slowly in the Arab's train, 
The shambling camels of the caravan ! 



[36] 



Ill 

THE LESSON 

Untiiiing sands, pent in the hourglass, 
Why shift forever thus from pole to pole? 
Is it because it was your wont to roll 

From dune to dune, to dwindle and amass? 

Or would ye teach us, even ye, alas. 

That consummation is our living's toll, 
And that despite our dreams, the only goal 

Of life is that, when having come, it pass ? 

Have ye not marked the crumbling Babylon, 
And heard old Homer chant the fall of Troy, 
Seen Athens rise and Carthage have its 
day? 
Yet where are these? And where their glory 
gone? 
And where the daring Macedonian boy 
Who deemed the earth too small a thing to 
sway? 



[37] 



INSOMNIA 

I LAY awakened in the deep of night 
And mused upon the day's vicissitude, 
Happy to feel, despite its shifting mood, 

That thou art constantly my beacon bright. 

My fellows may contemn me, Love, and slight, 
Because the world's a thing will never brood 
On anything beside its daily food : 

Its wit is shallow, dull its ear and sight. 

Yet shall I sing my songs because I must. 
And be content if only thou wilt hear. 
And hearing, heed my melodizing heart. 
And when long years lie mouJd'ring with my 
dust 
The world may pause and lend a tardy ear, 
And men lament my fate and praise mine 
art. 



[38] 



TO SHELLEY 

On reading his Adonais 

I HEARD the weeping of thy plaintive lyre, 
And yearning seized upon me; sudden tears 
And grief were mine, and all my youthful 
years 

Were one with thee in love and thine in ire. 

And how forlorn my heart! And what desire 
That, as thine Adonais, who endears 
Whoever once his heavenly music hears, 

I, too, might vie with philomela's choir ! 

O heart of hearts, what voice has wept for thee? 
The waters wept: how loth to give thee 
death ! 
And their lament than man's is deeper far ; 
For now, as nightly rolls the restless sea, 
A dirge arises from its salty breath, 

Wailing thy name to every weeping star! 



[39] 



TO E. HARLOW RUSSELL 

The glorious summertime must pass away, 
And with it all the luxury of flowers, 
Of leaves and grass and those voluptuous 
hours 

Which smell of fruit and of new-garnered hay. 

October frosts will make the meadows gray ; 
But when the vernal season overpowers 
The north again, this lovely time of ours 

Will reawake to blossom into May. 

And thou, beloved master, though the years 
Which sear the lily and the ruddy rose 

Must bid the valiant bow them and depart. 
Thou needst not of the parting harbor fears. 
For thou wilt live the while my spirit glows, 
And breathe and throb within my panting 
heart ! 



[40] 



THE REVEILLE 

Let others sing of grief; my song's of joy! 
I sing of youth and of the merry years 
Wliich ache with Laughter as they mock at 
tears, 

And sing a love which sophistries annoy; 

A love outlasting every other toy, 
A love too vigorous to stop at fears, 
A love which neither Time nor Winter sears ! 

Let others sing of age; I'm still a boy! 

And why not sing of joy and love and youth? 
Because we fear that each may prove a knave, 
And having seen us hoary, will forsake? 
O joy as much as sorrow holds of truth! 

And since we all must sleep within the grave, 
While living lasts, why, let's be wide awake ! 



[41] 



POEMS IN VARIOUS KEYS 



ON THE BIRTH OF T. E. R. 

I 

Saith Love to June : " Good-morrow ; 
I wonder, may I borrow 

Some sunny day 

The throstle's lay 
To fashion little Thoreau ? " 

II 

And June in answer saith: 
" From roses cull her breath ; 

Then take her eyes 

From out the skies, 
And make Elizabeth." 

Ill 

So Cupid thanked the dame, and 
Upon the day he came, and 

With fairer things 

Than golden rings 
He shaped the baby Raymond. 



[45] 



TO A BROWN THRASHER 

I 

MELX-ow-THROATED, you have won 
A more than friend in me, 

Since yesterday I heard your heart 
O'er-brim with melody. 

II 

1 know not why you sang and sang 
In such an earnest wise, 

But, O I think that every note 
Ascended to the skies ! 

Ill 

O would that I might woo my love 
With half so sweet a song 

As that you sing your little mate 
The whole day long ! 

IV 

'Twas she, my Mary, taught me add 
Your pipings to my lore, 

And I suppose, my little friend, 
That makes me love you more. 



[46] 



V 

I blush to think that as a child 

I often slew your kin ; 
But if I tell my guilt to you, 

Can you absolve the sin? 

VI 

I then might borrow but a strain 
Of yours, with mine to wed. 

And in repentance sing a dirge 
Or requiem for the dead. 

VII 

But why attempt to sing at all 
When I have heard you sing? 

— Only because you filled my soul 
With the glory of the spring. 

VIII 

Farewell, dear bird, farewell! I hope 

Again to hear you soon. 
And tm I do my heart will keep 

Your yester-even tune. 



[47] 



STANZAS 



It is the month when gusts of northern wind 
Blow from the hills the requiem of the year, 

When oak and beech and maple are consigned 
To nakedness, for fallen brown and sear 

Is all the frondage which was wont to bind 
Their lovely boughs when summertime was 
here. 

And brooks have ceased to babble liquid notes, 

For wind and frost have stopped their crystal 
throats. 

II 

A wealth of flakes empearls the frozen earth, 
And Nature drowses neath her snowy sheet. 

Dreaming, perchance, a dream of golden mirth. 
Of grassy vales and hills, of flowers sweet. 

Of happy Spring's return, of April's birth. 
Of twittering birds, of little lambs that bleat. 

Along the beach the ocean's murm'rous surge. 

Disconsolate, wails the dying year a dirge. 

Ill 

In rustic villages and lonely farms 

The gathered friends around the hearth at 
eve. 
Mindless of cares and free from vain alarms, 
Chatter of bygone years, and love, to weave 
[48] 



Some oft-repeated tale that ever charms 

Th' attentive souls which it will happier leave. 
A brimming bowl of cider, brown and tart, 
Circles about and wanns each simple heart. 



[49] 



THE NEST BUILDERS 



O UET US build our nest, Love, 
In some secluded bower; 

And build it with the best, Love, 
That our hearts can dower. 

II 

The bottom and the wall, Love, 
We'll shape of happiness ; 

For any nest may fall, Love, 
If it be made of less. 

Ill 

And when we have it done. Love, 
We'll line it well within 

With merriment and fun, Love, 
And joy and all its kin. 

IV 

Then let the season bring, Love, 

December if it care; 
We'll always think it spring, Love, 

Because we buildM fair. 



[60] 



IVIAY SONG 



Leap and exult, O thou my heart ! 

Let nothing keep thee bound; 
But let thy dark blood well and start 

As the rills that gush from the ground- 

II 

Leap and exult, for the hyacinth-bell, 
The tulip, and daffodil bloom, 

To welcome the Spring and wish her well 
And to mark the Winter's tomb. 

Ill 

Leap and exult, for the Dawn this mom 

Is girt with a rosy ray, 
And smiles upon the Spring's new-born, 

The purple and crimson May. 



[51] 



RONDEAUX 



THE RONDEAU 

Rondeau,, they think you a trifling thing, 
A feather instead of a full-fledged wing. 
And say you frail, imagine it vain 
For poets to try to ehcit a strain 
Of yours as worthy as any they sing. 

Ah, the ballad-mongers they must cling 
To any kind of a ravelling string! 
But ma}' I heai^ken to your refrain, 
Rondeau ? 

We'll make them see that what you bring 
Is sweet and clear as a rill-fed spring, 

That now you delight and now complain, 
Now throb with joy and quiver with pain. 
Now weep, now laugh, a rollicking 
Rondeau ! 



[55] 



MY GOLDEN BOY 

" My golden boy ! " was that the word 
Escaping from her lips, I heard? 
Or was it but a flimsy thread 
I faintly caught and which misled 
Mine ear to hear what I inferred? 

A foolish thing, to have been stirred. 
But, there ! a second time, a third ! 
And not a dream, but what she said : 
" My golden boy ! " 

I wonder what can have occurred 
To make her choose that golden word? 
Perhaps it is that she has fed 
On dreams about my flaxen head. 
Or why, then, is it she preferred : 
"My golden boy?" 



[56] 



BEFORE WE CAME 

Before we came to dwell on earth, 
I think that love had little berth 
Within the greedy hearts of men 
Who will not harbor in their ken 
A thing the bosom ever stir'th. 

Their every day was but a dearth 
Of all to which we've given birth ; 
Imagine what the world was, then, 
Before zi)e came! 

And we have come among them, girth 
With everything which makes for mirth ! 
We'll make them think a year is ten 
By teaching them to love again ; 
And they'll confess life had no worth 
Before we came ! 



[5T] 



THE GOLDEN APPLE 

Weire I the lad whom Homer sings, 
Tending the sheep by Ida's springs, 
And Venus and Minerva came, 
And Juno, too, that I proclaim 
Whose the apple Eris flings ; 

And if they made me offerings 
Of wisdom and the might of kings, 
I'd hesitate (you'd do the same), 
Were I the lad. 

But then if Venus said : " The things 
Which I shall give are the heart-strings 
Of any maiden you may claim," 
I'd whisper my sweet Mary's name, 
And grant the queen the suit she brings, 
Were I the lad. 



[58] 



ACROSS THE THRESHOLD 

O HEART of mine, how woni and sore 
You came and knocked at your love's door; 
But 'twas not she who' opened there, 
Although the op'ner's eye and hair 
Were blue and brown as hers of yore. 

Nor could you by the robe she wore 
Discern that she you stood before 

Was not your love, your good and fair, 
O heart of mine ! 

And, O the mien the stranger bore 
Recalled your love, your love of yore, 

But on her lip no kisses were, 

Nor in her eye the sun and air 
To bid you smile and weep no more, 
O heart of mine ! 



[69] 



ON FINDING A DEAD THRUSH 

Under the stars I found him dead, 

With nothing for his funeral bed 

But the cold, grey pavement of the street. 
Where trod a horde of hurrying feet, 

Unmindful that a soul was sped. 

His plushy wings were both outspread 
As if to hide his sleeping head ; 

But he slept as those whose spirits meet 
Under the stars. 

I followed where the hedges led, 
And hid him from the heedless tread, 
Among the herbs and grasses sweet. 
Where leaves might be his winding sheet ; 
And then I turned away and fled 
Under the stars. 



[60] 



PINDARIC ODES 



AMERICA 



Bind ! bind ! A chain ! and bind your bard ! 
As galley slaves are bound, so bind him hard! 
Poison and stop his breath! 
Allow him not to see the sun, 
But close him in a prison dun ; 
And ere a song, a stave, he uttereth, 
Batter and crush his limbs, and starve his 
heart to death ! 

II 

Tear up the slender primrose in the May ! 
Tear up the stalk and all ; let nothing stay ! 
And trample down the roots 

Lest, when the Spring return again, 
Your efforts prove to have been vain 
And from the parent stem there issue shoots ! 
Tear! tear the stem if you would stay the 
fruits ! 

Ill 

Your poet ? Send him to the plough ! 

Or let him bear the carter's load. 
Let sweat be beaded on his brow, 

And hunger serve him as a goad ! 
Or let him as the thief and beggar go, 
To live or die as Fortune will ! 

[63] 



To reap in taunts and many a blow 
And rarely get his fill. 

Or bind him ! bind your bard ! 
And keep him under rod and guard ! 
Bind him both with chain and thongs ! 
Bind his hands, and bind his feet; 
And then your old complaint repeat 
That you've no poet come to sing your songs 



[64.] 



AS SUMMER FOLLOWS PRIME 

I 

All earthly things, methinks, must have a 

prime ; 
And, passing Spring, they reach to summer- 
time; 
The violet in the wood 

Is blooming in the moon of May ; 
But when the mowers mow the hay, 
Who, that in spring had seen and under- 
stood, 
Would know the flower now without its purple 
hood ? 

II 

And so the child begins with infancy, 
The age of plumpy cheek and teary eye ; 
But, he grows apace! 

And soon the rounded cheeks are gone. 
And soon the boy has trowsers on ; 
And when we see him play at horse, or race, 
We look, but look in vain, to see the infant's 
face. 

Ill 

And now to tall young manhood grown. 
He talks of science, — end and cause ; 

Of men and things which he has known ; 
Of business, politics, and laws. 
[65] 



He thinks himself niisunderstood of men, 
And fancies he has passed beyond 

His simple parents' ken. 

But they, they only know the bond 
Which makes the cherished son ; 
They cannot guess the lore he's won, 

And yet, somehow-, it gives them joy 
To think, despite the learned speech 
And all the things which he can teach. 

That he's not yet a man, but just their boy. 



[66] 



THE HARVEST 



I 



Once more the happy gleaners bind the sheaves, 
And Autumn gathers in the fallen leaves 
Which through the stilly hours 

The oak and elm and maple doffed; 
The hazy sun smiles faintly from aloft 
On all the plenty which the season dowers, 
While age the golden-rods, last veetige of the 
flowers. 

II 

The squirrel's summer-trill is heard no more : 
Too busily he reaps an ample store, 
Against the winter's dearth, 

From hickory-groves the live-long day 
To pause and chatter with the jay; 
And where from bough to bough in greedy 

mirth 
He leaps, fresh-loosened leaves whirl down- 
ward to the earth. 

Ill 

And we, dear Heart, have reapers been; 

The love you brought a year ago, 
When first my home you entered in, 
Is ruddy with an afterglow. 
Our granaries, our hearts, are brimming o'er 
With grain of purest gold I 
[67] 



And there lies scattered on the floor 
What loft nor bin could hold. 
The very rafters all are hung 
With things of which the summer sung! 
And gazing on the treasures here, 
I ponder on the coming year, 
And tliink the garners need be builded higher, 
And feel my heart exult and leap with fresh 
desire ! 



[68] 



DID THE LEADER RETURN 



The din of battle breaks on every side ! 
The call to arms ! And quick the nation wide 
Huzzas and frantic cheers ! 

And bugle blasts and beating drums, 
And cries of: " Up, the German comes! " 
And soon the tramp of marching grenadiers, 
The roar of army vans and white plumed 
cavaliers ! 

II 

And will the rumbling guns and neighing steed 
Awake Him, sleeping in the Invalides? 
And will he rise again 

And bid a thousand cannons roar 
And give his lovely France once more 
The might to drive the stranger back, as 

when 
He beat the haughty Hun with starved and 
ragged men? 

Ill 

Ah, did he rise up from the dead. 

Ye French, — who claim him as your own 
When thinking of the glory shed 
By victory about his throne. 
But spurn and curse him as " the Corsican " 
When ye remember Waterloo, — 
[69] 



Would hail the mighty man, 
Hail him as your savior true, 
Your lord and god of war. 
Your thunder-hurling Thor ; 
And he, as well befits 

His never-rivalled name, 
Would lead ye to a greater fame 
By giving ye another Austerlitz ! 



[70] 



AVE, MARTE! 



While ballad-mongers pule their tinkling rhyme 
And 'tempt to curse thee in a feeble chime, 
I'll bow and sacrifice; 

And may the savor of my offering 
Outweigh what evil rhymsters fling, 
And rising up to thine Olympian skies, 
Encircle thee and meet with favor in thine 
eyes! 

II 

I'll build for thee an altar with the art. 
Which Time has drawn from out the human 
heart: 
The toil of centuries. 

The fondest dreams of ages past 
In masonry and marble cast, 
The temples raised to other deities, — 
I'll overthrow them all, and fashion thine 
with these. 



[71] 



Ill 



Then hail ! Mars, hail ! And deign 

Accept what I can offer thee! 
I bring the season's richest gain 
Although it scarce can worthy be. 
Here are a million manly lives 

Gleaned from the battlefield, 
And here the children and the wives. 
And they are hunger's yield ! 

And this delightful carnal stench 
Was gathered from the bones that blench 
Along the plain where thousands lie, 
Where worms abound and insects reek, 
And vultures and the raven shriek, 
And cannon-smoke befogs the Autumn sky ! 



[7J2] 



DANTE'S REJECTED CANTO 



DANTE'S REJECTED CANTO 

We crossed the bog and came upon a plain, 
Barren and dry as are the Lybian sands 
Where seed cannot take root for want of rain. 

As oft a traveller seeing foreign lands, 
Stops by the wayside, marvelling to see 
A thing he never saw nor understands, 

So lingered I, for to the right of me. 

And rising from a broad and shallow well, 
I saw a fog of wondrous density. 

And turning to the poet : " Master, tell, 
I beg of thee, what novel thing is this ? 
And why a mist where sunshine never fell ? " 

And he to me : " As patience leads to bliss, 
So will you learn, if you but wait a space. 
How different that from what you think It 
is." 

I followed on, and at a brisker pace; 

And as we nearer drew, I saw the cloud 
Was one of dust, and felt it on my face. 

Within the pit a multifarious crowd 
Of spirits were embedded in a dust. 
Musty and black, which served them as a 
shroud. 

But now and then a head was upward thrust 
As if to gasp a breath of fetid air. 
Then sank again but with a livelier gust. 
" O wanderer," one cried, " who standest there 
Garbed in the flesh that men possess on earth, 

[75] 



What brings you here ere death has claimed 
its share? " 

" A lofty purpose, nothing of my worth, 

Compels me here," I said. " But tell me, 

you, 
What land was yours and what your name 
and birth?" 

And he to me : " There where the Amo's blue 
Divides the city of the Florentines, 
My mother bore me, if they told me true. 

For I Testaccia was, and Italy pines 
Because of me, for when I lived above 
I fed its youth with many a poet's lines ; 

But since I had less sanity than love, 
I made the poets say a thousand things 
Which they had never dreamed nor reckoned 
of. 

And graver still, I dried my manhood's springs 
In delving books for facts, not one of which 
To any mortal any comfort brings. 

And now am I condemned within this ditch 
To search in tomes that lie all buried here 
Beneath this filthy dust, and dark as pitch, 

To ascertain how oft the Chian seer 

Has used an alpha, and when I have done, 
Must I begin again my penance drear." 

" And yonder, who are those? " " The nearest 
one 
Is Doctor Ciarlatano," he replied; 
" We all of us were doctors 'neath the sun. 

[76] 



For more than sixty years he vainly tried 
To find out why the t should have been 

crossed, 
And still he knew it not the day he died. 

The one behind him there who's ahnost lost 
Is Stupido, who thought the moon of lead, 
And would have it so at any cost. 

And to the left the bald and pear-sliaped head 
You see is Pazzo's. None of us on earth 
Have ever lived, but we've been cold and dead. 

Of any thought our skulls have known a dearth, 
And yet we fancied that the naught we did 
Was all there was, and all that could have 
worth. 

Genius budded round us which we chid 

Or heeded not, or which we tried to choke : 
We would not have it bloom; we wished it hid. 

And since we gave our lives to sniff and poke 
The dust from off old books, so must we here 
Furrow with our snouts, a hog-like folk. 

Nor do we ask that ever human ear 

Should hear our names when you return up 

there. 
For well we know our memory's long been 
sear." 

" I made a book when still I breathed the air," 
Another cried, whose head had just appeared, 
" To prove that a and e were vowels in bare. 

And now, ah me, a thing I never feared, 
I find each copy buried here below, 

[77] 



And I condemned to feed on what I reared 
For all eternity ! " As when we throw 
A rock into a pool the waters spout 
Against the impact of the sudden blow, 
So did the head of this unhappy lout 

Plunge down so quickly in its grimy well 
That whence he sunk there burst and issued 
out 
A cloud of soot as foul and dark as hell. 



[78] 



TRANSLATIONS 



MY SECRET 

My soul its secret hath, my life its mystery : 

A deatliless love within a moment known. 

The ill is hopeless ; could not, then be shown ; 
Nor guessed it she for whom it came to be. 
Alas ! I'll pass beside her, she'll not see ; 

Forever at her side, yet quite alone; 

And here I'll bide until my day have flown. 
With nothing asked, and nothing granted me. 

And she, though God has made her kind and 

dear. 
Pursues her way, distraught, and does not hear 
This amorous murmur following close at 
hand. 
Devoutly faithful to her lofty task. 
On reading this, all filled with her, she'll ask : 
" What woman's this ? " but will not under- 
stand ! 

Feldc Abvers. 



[81] 



WELCOME TO THE SPRING 



Welcome, May, 
And your banner gay ! 

II 

Welcome, Spring, 
That makes us love ! 
And maids, who bring 
Your enamored of. 
Who with roses they wove, 
Make you pretty in May. 

Ill 

Come to the shade 

Of the woodlands green, 

Secure's each maid. 

Such lads between ; 

For beasts and birds are seen 

To love in May. 

IV 

The young and pretty, 
Let them not be cold ; 
For youth, 'tis pity, 
You can't remold. 
Let no maid scold 
Her lover in May. 

[82] 



V 

Each sing and dance 
Of our company. 
See your gallants, 
Who will just for ye ! 
Should ye cruel be, 
'Twill sear the May. 

VI 

To capture the maids 
The lovers take darts. 
Surrender, brigades 
Of lovely parts ! 
Return stolen hearts; 
Be at peace in May. 

VII 

Whoe'er steals a heart, 
Be she lavish of 
Her own. What a start! 
'Tis the angel of love, 
WTio comes from above 
To help honor May. 

VIII 

Love comes with laughter 
And a wreath on his brow. 
'Tis you he's after. 
So welcome him now. 

[83] 



Who'll be first to vow 
Him flowers of May? 

IX 

Welcome the rover. 

What news do you bear? 

That each maid, of clover 

Bind her love's hair ; 

And that youth who are fair 

Fall in love in May. 

PoivIZIANO. 



[84] 



DANCE SONG 



Lovely ladies, I have passed 
Days in seeking for my heart ; 
Thanks to you, Love, for your part, 

I haA'e found it out at last ! 

II 

Here, perchance, is dancing still 
She who stole my heart away. 

Now she has it, ever will, 
Even to my dying day ! 
She's so gentle and so gay 

That she'll always keep my heart. 

Thanks to you. Love, for your part, 

I have found it out at last. 

Ill 

Ladies, I must make you know 
How I found my heart again ; 

When I felt it slip and go, 
Everywhere I sought in vain. 
Then I spied those eyes that reign 

Where in hiding lay my heart. 

Thanks to you. Love, for your part, 

I have found it out at last. 



[85] 



IV 

What will happen to the thief 
Who has pilfered me my breast? 

What a lovely, charming fief! 

What a face where love may nest ! 
May her bosom never rest. 

Burning ever with my heart! 

Thanks to you, Love, for your part, 

I have found it out at last. 



Bind the thief, O Cupid, bind; 

Bum her with her very theft ! 
If she beg you, do not mind ; 

Turn your eyes away, be deft ; 

Then if you have arrows left, 
Take a vengeance for my heart ! 
Thanks to you. Love, for your part, 
I have found it out at last. 

Lorenzo de' Medici. 



[86] 



DANCE SONG 



Him whom love does not embrace, 

Let him from the dancing go, 
For he'd do wrong to stay in such a lovely 
place. 

II 

If any's here who knows not love. 

Let him leave the site ; 
For a heart is here not thought well of 

Which is not burning bright ; 

If any of love but feels a mite, 
Let him kindle up the flame 
That we may know it, and we'll not give him 
chase. 

Ill 

And o'er this dance let Cupid reign 
With whoso serves him round ! 

And if any feels a jealous pain, 
He'd better not hold his ground. 
For he'll be scorned and frowned! 

And straightway let each fall in love. 

Or leave a spot like this, which everything must 
grace ! 



[87] 



IV 

If any maid's ashamed and shrinks 

From knowing love at all, 
She'll sooner blush, if she only thinks, 

That she does not heed the call ! 

No shame to you can ever fall 
In loving him who yearns for you ; 
But to be unkind to him, ah that alone is base ! 



If any lassie's here so meek 
That she desists for fear, 
Let her know that a heart which is not weak 
To a like thing gives no ear. 
O Nature never gave, my dear. 
Such charms as yours to you. 
That having got them, you not profit by her 
grace ! 

Lorenzo de' Medici. 



[88] 



THE SONG OF THE CICALAS 

The maidens begin: 



We are maidens as you see 
Fair and full of jollity. 

II 

We go scattering delights 

As they do for carnival. 
But cicalas, envious wights, 

Wish their fellows ill befall. 

Then in slander vent their gall 
The cicalas which you see. 

Ill 

Still are we unfortunate; 
The cicalas make us fear 

Who after summer won't abate 

Their song, but chirp it through the year, 
Those who speaking ill you hear, 

Evils doers prove to be. 

The cicalas answer: 

IV 

Just as our natures will, 
Lovely ladies, must we do. 



[89] 



When you mock at our shrill, 
Then the fault belongs to you. 
One must know to do things, true, 

But must guard them secretly. 



Acting quickly, one can fly 

From the ill of evil speech. 
What avails to make one die 

Just by letting him beseech.? 

If our chirp annoys you, why, 
Act, while you've ability. 

The maidens reply: 

VI 

What is our beauty worth. 

If we lose it while we prate? 
Long live love and gentle birth! 

Down with envy ! Down with hate ! 

Heed no tongue that's slander-girth. 
We shall do, and bid us, ye! 

Lorenzo de' Medici. 



[90] 



ON SEEING HIS LADY 

I SAW my lady near a limpid brook, 

Among green leaves with charming ladies 
nigh, 

Of such a mien that from my earliest sigh 
I saw her ne'er so fair and sweetly look. 
Desire then his wonted sway forsook, 

Leaving my soul its grief to pacify. 

Departing hence, I saw my heart stay by ; 
More fervor, too, my thought and sorrow took. 

Already sloped the sun adown the west, 

Leaving the earth all darksome and obscure. 
Whence mine own sun escaped to other 
parts. 
The first with grief enow me did invest. 

How fleeting are the joys of earth ! how poor! 
And yet how slowly memory departs. 

Lorenzo de' Medici. 



[91] 



SYLVAN REPOSE 

Seek ye who will for pomp and other gains 
In temple, square, and in high-piled mound, 
Amid delights and treasure where are found 

A thousand grievous thoughts, a thousand pains. 

A verdant vale where every flower reigns, 

Or brook that bathes the' tender grasses 

round. 
Or bird whose niurmurings of love resound, 

Appeaseth better far whoe'er complains ; 

As do the wood, the rocks and mountains high, 
The darksome caves, the fleet and nimble 
hind. 
The blithe of heart yet ever timid fay. 
And I with sweet and ready thought espy 
Whate'er of her fair eyes doth me remind ; 
Yet even that, alas, now fades away. 

Lorenzo de' Medici. 



[92] 



O VIOLET 

O CHARMING Violet, thou cam'st to be 

What place my pure and earliest love was 
born ; 

And clear the waters were, the tears forlorn, 
That nourished well and often freshened thee. 
And pity then on that most happy lea 

Aroused her love, where flowers peer at mom ; 

With pretty hand she plucked thee to adorn 
Mine own, for thus she deigned to honor me. 

That thou desirest now, 'tis my belief. 

To flee to that fair hand ; but mine retains 
And on my bosom bare it keeps thee set; 
My bosom bare, for love and wasting grief 
Replace my heart ; the heart that me dis- 
dains 
Now dwelling whence you came, O Violet! 
Lorenzo de' Medici. 



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